Fell in Love with a Girl
by Mrs.Monster
Summary: "Isn't it a little late for coffee?" he asked. She paused, smiled. "You think that coffee actually means coffee. That's adorable." Murphy/OC


**Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Boondock Saints. No copyright infringement intended. **

**Author's Note: Just a quick, two or three part Murphy/OC thing. I expect the next part to be up rather quickly- within the next day or two. Nothing too heavy here. On a side note, I've been considering doing a BDS crossover fic. Maybe Murphy and Anna from Supernatural… or Murphy and Anya from Buffy? I am open to suggestions. **

**Language warning, but c'mon. It's the boys. **

**Fell in Love with a Girl**

**Part One**

After three years locked up in Hoag, Murphy MacManus's favorite thing to do was sit outside. Sometimes with a beer, always with a smoke, but the place Smecker and Eunice had set them up with was on a large piece of land and he had a chair that he'd move around the property and just _sit_. Of course, they still had people after them- federal agencies, the Italians and probably the Russians still, as well, but _fuck_. Even they were better than the filth they'd been locked up with for those unbearable years.

It'd only been a little over a month since Smecker and Eunice had busted them out with the help of Dolly and Duffy. They'd been brought directly here, just over the Canadian boarder, outside a town called Sarnia, already out of the country just as the guys at Hoag realized they were gone. Their guys (and girl) had their shit down. The house itself was small and rundown, nothing they weren't used to, with two closet-sized bedrooms, one room that served as living room and kitchen and a bathroom that was so small a person could shit, shower and shave at the same time if they wanted to. Neither Murphy or his twin Connor was about to complain, though- _anything _was better than being locked up.

Murphy was outside after dark, his worn wooden chair under a tree strayed from the forest surrounding their place, only about fifty yards from the house. Slumped back, legs crossed at the ankle and stretched in front of him, Murphy's head was tilted back, staring up at the sky through the heavy branches and lightly swaying leaves. His hands were folded over his still thin stomach and he drew on the smoke that was between his lips. It bobbed around as he blew a thin stream of silver from the corner of his mouth and he extracted one of his hands to flick a stack of ash before clamping it between his lips again.

His brother had always been the only person who had ever been able to sneak up on Murphy and it showed as he was knocked from his chair and onto his ass in the grass.

"All right, Aristotle. Enough of this shit," Connor said, grabbing Murphy's chair, turning it around and straddling it backward. He looked down at his brother, still sprawled on his back. Connor lit his own smoke, cherry burning bright in the almost complete-black night. "If I spend one more day in that fucking house I'm going to burn it to the ground."

"What would you suggest, then? Not like we can walk into town, go bowling."

"Fuck off. And why can't we walk into town? It's only a few miles, no one is going to know us. We're in fucking Canada, Christ fuckin' sakes."

"Lord's fuckin' name!"

"Sorry, but you know what I mean. I'm going crazy here, Murph."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Get cleaned up, smellin' nice. We walk into town, and I know I saw a bar when we passed through with Thing One and Thing Two. We have a few drinks, pick up a few girls- we just got out of prison, brother! I mean come on, I haven't even _seen _a woman in real life other than Bloom in _three fuckin' years_. And if I tried to move on her, she'd probably break my arm."

"Or break something else. Alright, alright. You ain't gotta beg, Conn." Murphy knew damn good and well that this was a bad idea, but Connor had a point. A damn fine one. Bottle of Jameson, a soft, warm girl- few hours of down time. Just what Doc woulda ordered. Murphy held out a hand and Connor pulled him to his feet. They both flicked their smoke butts and raced to see who would get the shower first. As usual, Murphy won by pushing Conn backward off the house's little front porch.

…

"Only a few miles my perfect, Irish ass! Connor, you're a fucking idiot!"

"Fuck you! I'm not a damn odometer!"

They'd been walking for at least three hours and what Connor had assured him was at most a four mile hike, Murphy estimated they were going on six or seven. Before they left he'd showered, shaved and changed into his one nice sweater and the pair of jeans that had the least holes in them and even though it was mid-September, Murphy was beginning to sweat. If they didn't run across this damn town soon, he was turning around and walking back to the house. Fuck Connor, he could drink on his own.

There were no street lights on the back road they'd been walking down for the past several hours and all manner of things moved in the forest surrounding them. They were quiet except for when Murphy cussed Connor out for being such a moron for coming up with the stupid idea, no matter how quickly he'd gone along with it. Their boots scraped the pavement with an identical gait and he could tell that Connor was getting winded.

Thankfully it wasn't much longer before they saw the glow of a streetlight in the distance and not too much longer after that, the town of Sarnia. The bar was easy to find and it was jumping on that particular Saturday night, which would work out to their advantage. Even if someone this far up north could recognize the two fugitives, the place was so packed they would be hard to pick out. The only thing that set them apart from the rest of the crowd that ranged from young twenty-somethings to old carer drunks sitting quietly in corners were the black, polished rosary beads that disappeared into the necks of their matching, black v-necked sweaters.

Murphy and Connor fell between the two separate crowds, closer to the old drunks than Murphy was really comfortable with. The years hiding in Ireland with their Da had rushed them from late-twenties to near-forties without him realizing it. Hadn't been until they'd come back to Boston and saw the old crowd again that he realized how much he'd changed in the near decade on the lam- no pun intended. One thing he could say for sure, he didn't miss the stink of those bastard sheep.

Next to him, Connor inhaled deeply, breathing the smoke, spicy whiskey smell, sub-par food getting burnt in the back- it was no McGinty's, but it would do. "Now this, Murphy- this is what I'm talking about. Go grab us a table, I'll get a bottle."

He found one in a smokey corner with the drunks and watched as Connor worked his way through the crowd, two glasses and the neck of a familiar green bottle held between his fingers. The first shot was poured and went down like fire, then a second and by the third it was the same smooth stuff he remembered. They had a drink for their Da, one for Greenly, for Romeo who had succumbed to his injuries shortly after the arrest. And one for Doc whose death they'd gotten word of through Duffy. Heart attack in his sleep- that one wasn't on his conscious, but they mourned him in their way regardless. It was just him and Connor again, and their Ma in Ireland, safely away from their righteous but messy business.

Their mood was growing heavy as the shots piled up so Murphy nudged his brother and jerked his head toward the bar to let him know he was going up for a few beers. It was while he was leaning up against the polished but scarred bar that he saw her. Slinging beer, mixed drinks and shots to the waiting crowd with a calm demeanor and a friendly expression. Light brown hair waved just passed her shoulders and pale skin on small hands scraped the head from two glasses of dark brew. When he handed over the cash light green eyes squinted up in a smile that flashed pearly white teeth behind pink lips.

She was beautiful- not in a flashy way, but in a way that made him think of entire weekends in soft cotton sheets, fingers through his hair, his stubble scraping across her smooth belly. When her smile faltered and Murphy realized that he'd been staring at her like a fucking moron while she'd been trying to hand him change. Murphy collected the coins and beers and scuttled back to the table where Connor asked him what took him so fuckin' long.

"I just saw the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life, Conn." A sip of his beer and Murphy licked foam from his upper lip.

Connor shook his head. "We're out for a night, a little love 'em and leave 'em, and you're over there fallin' in love."

"Didn't fuckin' say that. I just said she was pretty."

"My fuckin' ass. _'She's the prettiest girl I've ever seen_' all stars in your eyes, you fuckin' sappy bastard. What's her name?"

Murphy shrugged. "Don't know."

"Well where is she?" Connor stood half out of his seat, scanning the bar.

"Bartender."

"Oh yeah," Connor eyed her. "She was a cute little thing. Not my type, but more power to you, brother."

Murphy felt like an asshole, but he watched her as the late night moved into early morning. He couldn't believe it, but he was trying to get the balls to go and talk to her. The crowd had thinned considerably, and Connor had jumped ship after a leggy red head whose blue eyes had twinkled at Connor's accent and roguish grin. Murphy wasn't sure where they'd gone off to, but they'd agreed to meet at that first streetlight no later than six am to hike back to their place.

When it was just the older crowd left, the ones who would stay until they were kicked out when the bar closed around three, Murphy drained his beer and approached the bar. Now, he knew that back in the day, he could be a damned charming bastard. But, well, he was a little out of practice to say the least. She was standing with her back to him, wiping glasses. Murphy slid onto a stool and drummed his fingers on the bar nervously for a moment.

"Hey there," Murphy said, louder than he meant to. The girl jumped about a foot in the air, dropping and shattering the glass she'd been holding. She whipped around to face him, hand to her chest.

"You scared the shit out of me! Holy hell." She braced a hand on the bar, breathing hard. "I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone other than the regulars were still here."

Murphy cleared his throat. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"No, it's alright." She laughed a little, "I don't usually scare that easily. Is there something I can do for you?"

_Sex against the bar_, _a weekend without clothes_, and _marry me_, all flashed through Murphy's mind, but what he said was, "'Nother beer, please."

"Of course." She let the dark beer from the tap pour into another clean glass, scraped the head and slid it to him. He sipped it as she grabbed a broom and cleaned up the broken glass.

"Name's Murphy," he said around the smoke he'd just lit.

"Jo," she told him, walking the length of the bar to stash the broom back in its corner.

"That short for something?"

"Jolene. My mom loved Dolly Parton."

Murphy nodded, blew out a stream of smoke, and wondered what the fuck she was talking about.

"Are you from Ireland, Murphy?" she asked, coming back to lean on the bar in front of him. He couldn't help but let his eyes wander down to the way her tits pushed together under her low-cut tee shirt emblazoned with the bar's name.

"Born and raised." He had to be careful not to give out too much information, but that was harmless.

"So, Irish Murphy, the bar closes in about ten minutes. For a guy that's been staring at me all night long, sure took you long enough to come over and talk to me."

His face immediately went red. "I, uh-"

"It's alright," she cut across him. "If you hang around while I kick the regulars out and put the chairs up, you can walk me back to my place, maybe have some coffee."

Murphy's face scrunched up a little. She certainly was a forward girl. "You sure that's a good idea? You don't know me from Adam."

"Sure. It's not like you're a killer or anything." She laughed again and then went over to poke an old drunk who had fallen asleep with his head on the table. Murphy awkwardly chuckled along with her. If only she knew.

Jo kicked the drunk men out of the bar, sending them walking home. "Hey, Irish Murphy. Come help me with these?" 

Murphy quickly stubbed his smoke, finished his beer and went to help her flip the chairs on the tables.

…

Jo lived just a few blocks from the bar, in a small three-unit apartment building. Her's was at the top, a loft type that was worlds away from the one he and Connor had in Southie. For one it had an enclosed bathroom and consistent hot water- he'd asked. She was still leaning back against the door she'd closed, Murphy standing awkwardly by the tan sofa, asking questions about the plumbing.

"Isn't it a little late for coffee?" Murphy asked just as she pushed off the door.

She paused, smiled. "You think that coffee actually means coffee. That's adorable."

Closed in on him, backed him up until he sat hard on the sofa and she was in his lap. Murphy gulped hard.

So, no coffee, then.


End file.
